


Killer Company

by hillbillied



Category: The Pacific (TV)
Genre: Ack Ack and Hillbilly: the Big Gay Dads, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Domestic Fluff, Dysfunctional Family, Halloween, M/M, Minor Character Death, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Vampires, Werewolves, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-01-18 10:08:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12386031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hillbillied/pseuds/hillbillied
Summary: Eugene lived an idyllic life. A stable family, in his third year of college, no woes, no worries; he was the good boy he had always expected himself to be. Everything was perfect. Everything wasnormal.Then his heart stopped beating.A moment of recklessness leaves him waking up in one of Mobile’s alleyways – two bite marks in his neck and without a pulse. His world is turned upside down as he fails to get to grips with his new undead urges, resulting in the destruction of his family life and a death at his hands. Forced to run but with nowhere to go, Eugene must put his faith in his best friend’s promise; that there is a place up North, a house in the Tennessee countryside, that has what he’s looking for.A house inhabited exclusively by monsters; werewolves, ghosts, perhaps something even worse - watched over by a witch who Eugene hopes can cure him of his ailment. Or, at the very least, point him in the direction of the beast that turned him and get the Hell out his way.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Early Halloween! Welcome the Pacific Monster AU nobody asked for! Enjoy!

It had been raining.

Whether in just the evening or all through the day, he couldn’t recall. The events leading up to then had become a haze, every second closer to midnight becoming a greater mystery. An early morning start, a bowl of frankly _disappointing_ cereal, an argument with his father; those he could see in perfect clarity. Then there was a long walk, a lonely afternoon, and the tempting neon lights of one of Mobile’s bars tucked away in unfriendly territory.

He didn’t drink but he’d decided to start. Or try to, at least, though he’d been spotted as a pretender rather quickly.

Eugene blinked. The alleyway stretched out ahead of him, tilted on its axis as a dog barked. Stars flickered from the black sky, a tiny illumination. His cheek felt cold and wet against the watery ground, his clothes having grown damp where he lay in the puddles of the rain.

_How long had he been out for?_

His red hair stuck to his forehead, soaked a dark maroon as he pushed himself upright. An immediate feeling of regret hit him with a wave of nausea and his surroundings spun, despite the hands he pressed against his pounding head. A low groan echoed from his throat, his skull weighing a ton against his aching neck.

He could feel his blood rushing beneath his skin. Yet no heartbeat thumped in his chest, no familiar pounding of a murmuring, struggling organ. He felt panic, yet showed none of its signs.

That unseen mutt barked again.

Pulling the shield of fingers from his eyes, Eugene stared blearily out at the darkness of the alleyway. The road glistened up ahead beneath the rain’s sheen, the occasional flash of car headlights streaking by without a second’s pause. Besides their engines and the dog, Mobile was quiet. Early hours of the morning, it must have been.

His feet felt heavy as he rose, dragging his heels before staggering off kilter. Unable to walk straight, the thought crossed his mind that he was drunk, or worse, _drugged_. A quick and desperate pat down of his body revealed all his clothes to be still intact and in their proper positions, however. His wallet and phone were in place too. It didn’t soothe him any; drunk was still bad enough.

What would his mother think if she caught him like this? He had never been the type to do such things.

Several more swaying, unstable paces and one stop to lean against the brickwork later, Eugene was able to walk almost consistently. Apart from his head, which he found himself letting droop to one side on account of the pain in his neck; an ache that pulsed occasionally and left him scratching at the skin. He tried to ignore it.

He had to focus on winding his way home.

 

 

 

His dreams that night showed him what he couldn’t recall.

A tempting smile across a dirty bar, sending his murmuring heart into a difficult stutter. A foul smelling, foul tasting liquid in his untouched glass that he couldn’t bear more than two sips of. Dark hair and dark eyes and a pleasant conversation that had blood rushing to his cheeks. A brush of hands. An unfamiliar accent of the North. A _‘Let’s get out of here’_.

The splash of two pairs of boots, taking a promised shortcut down a dark alley. A pause for almost a kiss. A black sky and a white pair of teeth.

Such long, _sharp_ teeth. So unnatural they had Eugene transfixed, absorbing his focus in the dark of that alleyway. Teeth gave way to a splitting jaw; a huge, grinning maw, pointed ears, skin pulling back over a stretched, pale, hollow face. Eyes suddenly reflecting the night sky and nothing else.

He hadn’t tried to run. He couldn’t have. He’d felt his heart stop in fear.

Sharp nails dug into his scalp, dragged him into a crushing embrace as those fangs drove themselves into his neck. Through to his jugular, hot blood splashing his shirt and cheek and over as his flailing arm. A flailing that slowed to a whimpering halt as his wide eyes stared up at nothing, tear-filled and petrified and trembling. Jaw slack and mouth open in a scream that couldn’t surface; he was underwater. Only the water was crimson and thick and bubbling in his throat as the very life was ripped from his veins.

It hurt. Fuck, it _hurt_ ; from the sting of those rough teeth to the claws in his hair to the burning in his throat as he desperately tried to give a sound. Anything; a sob, a shout, a cry for help. Anything to give him a shred of control, a reaction. To rid him of the helplessness, the frozen mannerisms of bested prey.

His chest shook violently yet no breath left him. And no heartbeat could be heard, only the pounding of escaping blood in his ears.

It ended with a slurping; a tearing of flesh and suddenly his support was gone. His knees shattered the silence as they splashed against the unforgiving ground, light from his eyes gone as his expression of panic gave way to a dazed horror. A final, desperate look, pleading with the creature staring down at him.

Those teeth shank back behind a now-handsome face, a bloody hand wiping the excess from his lips before licking his fingers clean. A smile taunted the boy left convulsing against the road, upright on his knees only by the hand pawing pitifully at his assailant’s slacks.

A hand patted him mockingly on the hair. Eugene’s skull hit the ground as he collapsed.

 

 

 

His eyes burst open with a grunt of panic. A messy bedroom greeted him, dirty clothes strewn across the floor. Midday sun slithered through the curtains, alerting him to the time of the clock beside his head.

_16:23._

Eugene was certain it had read 03:04 a moment earlier. It occurred to him slowly that he had been passed out for over twelve hours. Somehow, it failed to set off his natural reaction; to jump out of bed, sprint for the door. Try and reclaim the day he’d somehow lost.

Instead he merely ran a hand over his eyes, palm dragging over his skin as the pounding in his skull refused to ease.

Eugene attempted to get up. His attempt failed, culminating in rolling straight onto the floorboards of his bedroom with a dissatisfied thump. Somehow it didn’t hurt quite like he’d expected, leaving him to groan only in frustration.  Another rolling motion and he was back on his side, then stomach, then knees. Upright and on his feet finally, wobbling on shaky legs as he forced his body to walk through the haze. To slump through the bathroom door and hang his head over the sink.

_How much had he drunk to dream that kind of horror?_

The tap squeaked before cold water crashed against the porcelain bowl. Cupped hands drew the cool liquid up and over his face, refreshing his skin and giving a fraction of relief to his headache. A few more splashes and his fingers returned to clutching the edges of the sink. Eugene left the water running for a moment, enjoying the calming sound before he twisted it away, his gaze finally lifted to the framed mirror before him.

The young man who stared back shared only his look of horror, nothing more.

Perhaps also his red hair, though even that seemed wild and sweat-slicked. Out of place from its usual combed position, neatly set in place even in casual company.

No rosy cheeks or pink nose reflected themselves for him. His right temple was smeared with day-old mud, no doubt crusty now and rubbed off against his pillows. Flecks of something dried, brown and orange, reached his lips, over his neck, down his bare chest. He dared not identify it. Deep bags drew lines into the skin around his features.

And yet, his eyes were what Eugene could not break from.

_Bloodshot_ , yellow at the edges where they should be only white. Dilated pupils and pink surroundings to match the discolouring where he’d rubbed his sockets raw.

Unable to bear the sight, he turned his gaze back to the sink. Amongst the brown of the mud, the water had turned a shade of pale red.

 

 

 

Eugene found he couldn’t panic. Not once did he begin to hyperventilate or feel his heartbeat rage like it was about to give out entirely. Perhaps the shower helped, during which he scrubbed away all trace of filth from his skin. Washed out his eyes in the sink after, and swallowed down an unhealthy dose of painkillers from his cabinet. Towel clinging to his hip bones, he pushed back the bathroom door as if he might find a monster on the other side. (He feared _he_ _might_.)

The room was as he left it; strewn with last night’s apparel and curtains pulled tight. He cracked them open but thought better of it when the sunlight sent a wave of agony through his skull. He flicked the light on instead, needing to clear away his discarded items.

The denial that his nightmare had been purely fantasy wavered with each piece of clothing he snatched from the ground, ending finally in his chequered shirt. Eugene scooped the garment up with the paranoia one might have disarming a bomb, running the fabric through his fingers as through it may rear up and bite him.

Sure enough, the collar and left breast were soaked with orange stains, turned from red to brown overnight. Several buttons had been torn, too, presumably where his neck had needed to be exposed – the shirt fell from Eugene’s fingers with a start, his hand smacking against the skin of his throat.

It took barely a second to find them; the pair of seemingly tiny holes that had felt like gaping wells last night.

_Last night_. So, he was no longer pretending he couldn’t remember.

The bundle of other items fell away to the floor shortly, returning to their messy pile as Eugene sank heavily down onto his bed. Unable to drag his hand from his neck, his only solace the fact that his fingers were pressed against scabs now rather than open wounds.

How desperately he wanted to claw the dried lumps off.


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One week after the incident, Eugene's life shatters.

Eugene Sledge lived an idyllic life.

He’d be blind not to see it. From his large family manor in the suburbs of Mobile, Alabama, to his fully-paid education, to his shiny shoes and neatly combed hair. An aesthetic of perfection rarely seen outside movie theatres and the occasional dull coming of age novella. He was still surrounded by the pale walls of his family home and the high ceilings they afforded at twenty-one.

Deacon had greeted him like the old friend he was when he’d come home for a break – in his third year of college now. Almost a Bachelor of Science, just as his father had always wanted. _Expected_.

Eugene Sledge lived an expected life.

Up until that night, anyway.

 

 

 

“ _Eugene_.”

His fork stopped moving for a moment, paused in its motions of relocating individual lumps of mash potato across the plate. Brown eyes came up to meet his mother’s across the table, guilty against stern. Out of the corner of his eye he could see his father continue chewing silently, gaze fixed on his own meal. Eugene was keen to keep it that way.

“You’ve barely touched y’ supper.”

The chastisement fell flat between them.

Of course he wasn’t eating. The food tasted the same as ever, slid down his throat the same as ever; yet he was still starving. He’d noticed it the day after his drunken nightmare of a night – _that_ night, as he had personally dubbed it. He’d cleared his plate the first evening, then the next. Then wandered into the kitchen to binge midnight snacks from the fridge two nights later.

And still, _still_ he was hungry. A gnawing left at the pit of his stomach that he couldn’t comprehend nor sate. He’d simply given up trying.

“Guess ‘m jus’ not hungry.” Eugene murmured.

He didn’t mean to be rude, least of all to his mother. It was simply getting difficult to hide his discomfort, how his brow was constantly furrowed.

Stern eyes turned soft, almost concerned as his mother spoke. “You’re sick, Eugene.”

Her son looked back up at her pitifully.

“Don’t think we haven’t noticed.” She continued, shaking her head. A quiet scoff was covered by a sip from her wine glass. “We’re your parents, Eugene. Y’should know you can’t hide such things from us.”

“Sorry…” Mumbled the response.

The mash potato continued its motions across the porcelain.

 

 

 

Mary-Frank had her husband examine their son that evening.

Not an unsurprising idea, an almost comfortingly familiar one in fact. Eugene could still remember the numerous times he had sat in his father’s office as a child, swinging his legs back and forth from the examination table, waiting to be diligently checked over. _Pulse, blood pressure, weight, height, temperature._ The works. All the way up to and beyond aged fourteen, though by that point he’d come to secretly loathe the ritual.

And a ritual it was, as Dr Sledge took to the chair opposite him and asked how he was feeling.

“Fine.” Eugene lied, mentioning nothing of his hunger, “I feel _fine_.”

A pause of silence and a raised eyebrow displayed his father’s scepticism clearly. None the less, after a moment the older man turned and jotted the words down on his paper.

“Y’know, Eugene,” The doctor began, adjusting the stethoscope at his neck, “If y’ worried it will interfere with your studies, I can always request –“

“It’s not that.”

The interruption surprised them both, the desperation in his words even more so. It left an uneasy air as Eugene cleared his throat to try again.

“I mean it. I feel fine.”

They spoke no more about it. The topic seemed cursed after such an exchange, or maybe his father was just unhappy with his outburst. The redhead couldn’t find it in himself to blame him.

Another scribbled few words were followed by a dismissive gesture towards the room’s scales. Eugene stepped up to the challenge determinedly, forcing his gaze on the wall as his weight and height were taken one after another. Little to no change, he noted, as his father repeated the measurements for reassurance. A mumbled comment caught the boy’s ears – apparently, he’d lost weight.

He wasn’t surprised.

Eugene shortly found himself back on the examination bed, legs no longer small enough to be suspended in midair. He found his eyes drifting to the window as Dr Sledge’s stethoscope was dragged up to his ears, the cold silver disk pressed against the thin material of his shirt. The clouds were moving slowly across the sky, as if they couldn’t decide where to go.

The silence stretched on as Eugene waited for his father to note down the rhythm of his heart.

All he received for his troubles was a confused grunt as the older man sat back in his chair. Brow creased to frame a perplexed expression, his son looking to him with a dull interest.

“Lift you shirt.” The doctor requested.

Eugene did as he was told, rolling the fabric up ward so that the instrument could be placed flush against his skin. It was colder than before, without the barrier of cloth to shield him.

Another moment of silence. The stethoscope was adjusted, moved a fraction across his chest.

The quiet continued.

Another adjustment.

Then another.

Again, and again; his father continued to move the instrument across his torso, as if searching for a sound he couldn’t find. Eugene’s focus on the clouds had become a hard, unrelenting stare across the office. Fixated on the wall, as if the calm, pale colour might placate the feeling of dread he felt rising in his throat. One that clearly was not reflected by his heart, if his father’s growing expression of concern was anything to rely on.

Eventually, the ordeal came to the close. Dr Sledge lent back in his chair and tossed the offending instrument across his desk.

“That’ll do, Eugene.” The defeat in the man’s tone did not go unnoticed. “Try an’ get some rest. Y’ mother worries.”

His shirt was tugged back down and his feet moving him towards the door in record time. As if another minute in that suffocating examination would have killed him, Eugene made his way briskly out of his father’s presence. With a soft “Yes’ir” and a softer “Thank you”.

He pretended not to hear how the doctor cursed the stethoscope – “ _Darn thing was workin’ yesterday…_ ”.

What a surprise. It was a rare occurrence where Eugene hated being _right_. Yet he knew he was, as he ascended the stairs to shut himself away in the darkness of his bedroom. He couldn’t help how he stopped either, within the safety of his closed door, to press a palm flat against the left side of his chest.

No _thump, thump, thump_ could be felt beneath his skin. Eugene wasn’t even breathing.

 

 

 

The gnawing grew worse.

Tiny mice scuttling over his stomach grew to adult rats, plagued by starvation. Scratching and biting and ripping at his insides until he could no longer sleep. (Not that he’d been really sleeping these past few nights. More lying with his eyes closed, pretending and hoping and begging the Lord to send him into slumber.)

Eugene was left tossing and turning, feeling that something in his gut writhe as if ready to burst.

The calendar watched from the wall. One week since that night, marked with nothing more than a pencil line across its box. Seven days of unrest, hunger, and a distinct lack of heartbeat. None of which Eugene could ignore any longer, especially as the sun disappeared and he was left in a darkness that he should have found frightening.

Instead, it comforted him. The world was no longer black and white; he could see perfectly well. Another terror turned comfort.

A groan escaped him as he rolled onto his stomach once more. Downstairs, he heard Deacon bark. A piercing sound that had him clawing at the pillows. His fingers came away covered in threads of white, the fabric torn beneath sharp nails. He trembled as he forced his hands into fists, resisting something he couldn’t quite name.

His canines had begun to ache. Sweat rolled over his forehead, soaking his hair as he writhed in the pain he felt. Another bark, another twist in his gut. The sound echoed along with Eugene’s grunts of exertion, trying his best not to punch the mattress in frustration. He failed, stuffing flying upwards as he pulled his fist away with a strength he had never possessed. Pulsing through him like blood, yet still; no heartbeat filled his ears. The silence left in its wake carved away at his resolve, leaving him screwing his eyes shut, moaning as he desperately tried to cling to the idea that this couldn’t be real.

Deacon barked again.

The floorboards bent and creaked as Eugene’s bare feet slammed against them. How he could be upright, standing, walking so swiftly when his head continued to screech was beyond him. But then, so was all of this. So were the heavy footsteps, his possessed state as he made his way down the stairs. Stepping one foot at a time, swaying with each push forward. Eyes wide in the dark but not for want of light; he was transfixed, the blurry textures of the walls and spinning furniture doing nothing to slow his advance.

The kitchen passed on his left without a care. He would find no food there.

He was hungry, _starving_ – aching to the bone for a meal to satisfy. He could smell what he desired, had its scent filling his nostrils like a home cooked meal from the oven. Intoxicating him in his weakened state, cursing him to drag himself down the hallway. Towards the door, the moonlight filtering through the glass panels.

To Deacon in his bed, looking up at him with distrusting eyes. Whimpering as he backed away from his approaching master, then barking. Barking and barking and screeching inside Eugnene’s head. The barking had to stop.

He was so hungry.

 

 

 

It had always been a rare sticking point between him and Sid; the idea of the _supernatural_. They had both poured over the topics during childhood, conjured fantasies of the highest calibre from their young minds; but they had peeled away in different directions during later life.

Eugene was a self-proclaimed man of science. Science supported by a blanket of faith, of course – but facts were facts. People couldn’t survive without a pulse any more than a dog could talk.

Sidney disagreed. Would spend hours attempting to warn his friend of the dangers of the supernatural, how to approach them, how to protect oneself from them. And Eugene, patient as he was, would indulge with only the rarest of sarcastic questions. He would never encourage the fixation, however. It worried him.

It was an obsession too well-researched to be simply a phase, especially not one carried since childhood. And especially-especially after the disappearance of Sidney’s mother all those years ago.

A coping mechanism, then. An attempt to give reason to an event that was, to them all, a mystery.

Eugene was a man of science and logic, even now – when science had no answers.

And logic failed him.

 

 

 

Mary-Frank had no doubt woken to the sound of barking. Perhaps she’d dismissed the idea of an intruder by how quickly the sound died away, replaced by heavy footsteps from her son’s bedroom. The creaking of a body descending stairs rather than ascending them. Maybe she’d merely been curious, wanted to know why her poor sickly child was awake and roaming at such an ungodly hour.

Good intentions would not suffice for her following the sounds, however. She found herself in the long entrance hall of their home, peering across the polished floorboards to the scene framed by the moonlight.

“ _Eugene…?_ ”

The silhouette that looked so similar to her son lifted its head, the jerking motion freeing a pair of fangs from its prey’s side. Deacon’s pained whimper haunted the room as he saw his only chance to escape, struggling out from where he was pinned to his bed. Paws skidding in his own blood, he was able to limp away at speed, tail between his legs as he fled up the stairs in terror. High-pitched whines disappeared as Mary-Frank gazed into the darkness, eyes filled with horror at the sight.

Droplets fell rhythmically from her son’s twisted mouth, drawn back to into a maw of sharp canines. Framed by eyes of sheer black, fingers damp with crimson where his claws had dug into his pet. They took to embedding themselves in the wood of the floorboards now, scratching as Eugene began to snake his body towards her. Inch by inch, as if still trying to sneak up on another piece of prey.

His jaw moved as if to speak, gasps escaping his strained throat that might have been warnings. To run, to flee, to _get the fuck out of there_ before he was able to pounce. His voice failed him, silenced by the hunger that shocked his muscles into motion, had him drawing himself up onto his feet.

“E-Eugene-“ His mother spoke with a tremble in her words that he had never known, a fear he had never heard, “E-!”

Her hair felt soft beneath his palms. It tore where it caught his nails, ripped away as he grabbed her head in his hands. Her skull felt fragile – not that he took any note, too thirsty to think as he sunk his teeth down into the wrinkled skin of her neck. Deeper than he ever could have with Deacon, right into the jugular he knew lurked just below the surface.

_There_ – he had it. The vein burst beneath the punctures he made, hot liquid spilling out in his mouth. The taste was exquisite; sweet and thick like warm honey over his tongue. He swallowed desperately, a soft groan of relief echoing from his throat as he drew in that sickly taste that had his mind soaring. A pulse – not his, _never his_ – returned to his temples, thumping away in the rhythm he missed so much now he had been deprived of it. Mouthful after mouthful of blood passed his lips, drunk down in gulps that left his gullet sore for the pressure.

The gnawing became a singing; he was free from the hunger that had eaten his insides and decayed at his mind the past week. He could see clearly, the haze and blurriness gone. The world returned to vivid colours, far brighter and more beautiful than before; his body felt relaxed, renewed. He was truly sated for the first time he had ever known.

Eugene was smiling when he pulled away from his mother’s throat – and not because he was finished.

If anyone had distracted him, the credit should go to Deacon – returned from the upstairs bedroom and howling out across the landing. His father had followed, screeching his name as he came across the scene their dog had uncovered.

Mary-Frank fell from her son’s hands with a sickening crack, body crumpling to the floor in a flash of blood and nightgown.

Eugene’s red hands remained fixed, held in the position they had just used to cradle his mother’s dying form. To hold her steady as he sucked the life from her veins and left her a corpse, even as his body trembled and his surroundings finally took him in. Nothing could compare to how his stomach dropped then, not even the gnawing of before, as he took in Mary-Frank’s face at his feet, shivering beneath her dishevelled hair – his father rushing down the stairs, flushed and screaming – Deacon, howling and continuing that wretched barking at the night.

 

 

 

“If the cops ever stroll up on you, don’t run.” Sid had explained matter-of-factly. “It makes y’look guilty.”

No doubt he’d gotten the idea from the group of older boys – _men_ , to be correct, _all of them_ – that he’d recently been hanging around with. Also interested in the occult and supernatural, or so the blond had claimed. Eugene didn’t buy it but, once again, humouring each other was one of their strengths as a pair.

“Oh, yeah?” The redhead had pondered. An eyebrow had been raised and a rare, coy smile taken him. “An’ what if you _are_ guilty?”

Sid had paused to think for a moment, then reflected the smirk back with a bright beaming grin.

“Then y’ run.”

 

 

 

High ceilings and pale walls fell away behind him. A slamming door was overwhelmed with the sound of shattering glass - the ornate panels bursting into shards where he flung the exit shut behind him. The howling cries of his beloved dog echoed out across the lawn, up the path with its flickering streetlights and neatly trimmed flower bushes. His father’s screams rung out in his mind even after he could no longer dream to hear them as he ran.

Eugene ran like he didn’t know he could. One foot in front of the other in a trance of blurring scenery as he sprinted away from the crime scene. Sirens blared behind him and he couldn’t tell whether they were screeching away or pounding hot on his heels.

It was all just _noise_.

Noise he couldn’t process through the sobs that wracked his form, the dripping from his nose and tears soaking his cheeks. His chest heaved and shook as if he could no longer stand to breathe, crippled by his gasps between whimpers of pain.

_What had he done_ – oh, he knew what he’d done. He knew, _he’d seen._

The red stains on his pyjamas were testament to it; a perfect record of his sin. And sin was just the word, wasn’t it; the Biblical term for a great misdemeanour against one’s family, against oneself, against God Almighty.

Not that Eugene was thinking about God then. He was too busy running, slamming one bare foot into the ground after the next until he was sure he’d soon see the bright skyscrapers of New York City.

No such luck. Instead, he found himself tumbling over his limbs, tripping and falling flat against the sharp gravel. Stomach to the dirt, droplets falling against his hair – it was raining again. How fitting.

He managed to drag himself under the cover of a cardboard box, left leaning against the dumpster of an unnamed side street. How kind of some passerby to think of him when dumping the useless structure. He made a hilarious note to thank them later as he curled up into a ball, knees to his chests as he buried his face against the wet fabric of his pants. A bitter laugh escaped him between his sniffs, as if this was all some kind of entertaining delusion.

It had to be; this couldn’t be real.

None of this was real. His lack of pulse, his dying mother, _the rain_ – none of it. A fantasy, a nightmare. In a moment, he would blink and awake in bed. Fever passed and whatever sickness having brought this on vanished from his system. He’d be free to hurry downstairs, greeted by Deacon’s wagging tail and the smell of freshly cooked pancakes.

This couldn’t be real.

Denial didn’t suit a man of science and logic such as himself. Even so, Eugene still found himself pinching the freezing skin of his arm.

“Wake up…” He mumbled to himself, cardboard roof sagging against his head, “Please, _wake up_ …!”

His surroundings remained, unchanged by his pleas.

The rain continued to pour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Depressing and rushed, I'm aware, but I really just wanna write monster K company so, sorry Eugene. Shit's gotta get bleak.


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the help of his best friend, Eugene begins his new "life" - though it means leaving the old one behind.

They’d always promised to take a road trip together.

Fill up the tank of Sid’s ancient car – his _‘old man mobile’_ according to Eugene – then put the pedal to the metal and let the miles start ticking. Stir up dust on long highways, playing songs they would normally pretend to hate but fit so snugly into the shoes of a long drive.

They’d fall into tourist traps willingly; visit all the states they’d never known. And, at the end of a long day, sprawl out on the bonnet to watch the sun tumble over the horizon. The soft hiss of cold cola being shared, his best friend’s blond hair reflecting the warm light as they caught each other’s eye…

Probably not the last part. That was an addition kept safely in the fantasies of Eugene’s mind.

All of it was fantasy now.

The scenery was there; the setting sun, the orange sky turning pink as they chased the dying light. The horizon, the stretching highway, the wind tickling his hair through the tiny gap the window afforded. Only there was no fun music and no merry conversation. Just silence as Sledge stared, dazed, through the pane of glass beside him.

Misery consumed him, leaving all attempts at small talk dead on his tongue. He’d become accustomed to his own quiet, having spent the past week hidden away in Sid’s bedroom closet.

He’d scrambled in through his friend’s window, unable to think of any other alternative. He was catatonic, _mad_ ; buzzing with an adrenaline he didn’t want nor understand.

He had seen the way Sid looked at him in the dark. Wide eyed and terrified.

_Understandably_.

It made sense, then, that Sid had put a cable tie around his wrists and had him shut away in the closet for a short while. Neither of them knew if Eugene was still dangerous, after all. (The local news certainly claimed he was.)

It was all under the same strange logic that told the redhead his friend would know what to do.

An assumption that was proven right, sort of.

Sid definitely knew what he was, even if they refused to acknowledge it.

“Almost there, pal.” A hand reached out across the cab to pat Eugene on the shoulder, accompanying the comforting words, “Almost there.”

Where _‘there’_ was, Sledge didn’t know. He hadn’t the heart to ask. He’d put himself in the blond’s hands and felt he had no right to revoke the gesture, even now.

After all, who had kept him safe in that dark closet? Helped hide a criminal, a monster, a _murderer_. Taken the time out of each day to sit with him, to eventually cut away the bindings on his wrists and hold him close. Stroke his hair and tell him it was okay.

It wasn’t _okay_. It would _never_ be okay, just as that Tennessee sign would never have those bullet holes patched.

The border had rolled by an hour or so ago, along with the first admission by Sidney that they were almost at their destination.

Not the same destination he’d told his parents he was heading for, no doubt. It took a week for Sid to drop the notice of his departure; a weekend away from Mobile to _‘clear his head’_. Naturally, his family had thought it an excellent idea. After all, his best friend had recently gone missing, accused of a brutal attack in his home. Who wouldn’t want some space?

Sid packed up his car and headed off early on Friday morning. The moment he hit open road, he pulled over and circled his ride, revealing a miserable Eugene lying in his trunk.

The redhead got the privilege of riding shotgun from then on.

All the way to Tennessee and further, on just a handful of reassurance on Sid’s part.

_‘There’s a man I know. He can help you.’_

A man Eugene had half-heartedly agreed to meet, many days ago. Long before Sid pulled off the main road, finally substituting smooth tarmac for dirty rural tracks as he veered out into uncharted territory.

Sledge sat up a little in his seat. Dry swaying grass and the occasional tree marked their departure from civilisation, dust misting the mirrors as it was cast up beneath their treads. The track guided them to twist and turn, rolling over empty farmland until the speck of a building began to grow on the orange horizon.

Squinting in the dying light, Eugene tried to make out the destination. A white wooden house, an old barn, a large oak tree. _Traditional_ , with just a tasteful amount of decrepitude peeling at the washed out paint of the porch.

A pretty pair of French doors – with ornate glass panelling, of course – marked the entrance as they approached. Eugene wasn’t afforded a good look, however, as the entrance swung back to reveal the figure of a man, drawing himself out onto the wooden landing at the sound of the car’s engine.

The brake lights flashed and the tires began to slow, marking the moment Sledge swallowed down the lump in his throat.

The stranger descended the few creaking steps, stopping in the dust of the driveway as Sid came to a halt, barely ten feet from him. Despite his attempts, Eugene couldn’t see the mysterious man’s face, artfully obscured by the build up of dirt on the windshield. A blur of an identity, no matter which way he craned his neck.

Suddenly, a feeling of unease that had been only lurking until now raised its ugly head. His gut twisted, the sensation of an unexpected fall taking his body.

Eugene realised he didn’t know this man at all.

_‘He can help you.’_

What kind of person could help him was as unimaginable as it was terrifying. Regardless, it would mean trusting a stranger with his secret, his guilt, everything. The truth that he had become something terrible, something that he still refused to believe was real.

In his consumed state of misery, Eugene had been happy to agree to Sid’s soothing claims of salvation far away. He’d thought no better, been too caught up in his tears and pain.

Of course he’d agreed. But now, as the last rays of sunlight hit the car bonnet, Sledge was reconsidering. With panic in his eyes, he turned to the driver’s seat, opening his mouth to bite out his change of heart. He was met only with the door slamming.

Sid had already exited the vehicle, boots crunching as he made his way towards the stranger before them. Teeth gritted painfully, exposing his pointed teeth, Eugene felt a growl bubble in his throat as he once again squinted through the glass. His frustration grew as this time, the reflection of the sun’s rays obscured the mystery man’s features.

Sid’s back he could see clearly. Palms were offered and accepted; the two shook hands like old friends. (It didn’t provide any comfort.) A brief discussion, muffled by the distance, had Eugene forcing another lump back down his throat. A growing ball of bile and apprehension.

He blinked, focusing back on Sid.

His best friend had turned towards the car, motioning at the passenger seat. _At Sledge_. The final nail hammered into his coffin.

This was it.

Somewhere in his line of sight, Eugene could see the blond gesturing for him to follow. To crawl out from the safety of his metal cave and meet his supposed saviour.

With a long squeak, the passenger door reluctantly swung back. Uncertain feet fell against the uneven dirt, clad only in a borrowed pair of socks to match his uncombed red hair. The notion that Eugene, himself, wasn’t making the best impression left a bitter taste in his mouth. He bit it back behind his sharp canines.

Three paces brought him just beside Sid’s shoulder, held in place by his friend’s hand squeezing his arm protectively. Grounding him, allowing him to lift his gaze and meet the eyes of the man who stood before him.

A fixed stare, darkened by the shadows of the setting sun, found him easily; as if helping him bring their gazes together. Eugene found once captivated, he couldn’t look away; an invisible force kept him focused on this man, standing there in all his ordinary magnificence.

A denim shirt over a t-shirt and jeans, natural blond hair, the deep set lines of middle-age; everything seemed to fit into the right places. A handsome face accompanied the friendly half-smile and soft eyes, brow creased just enough for concern, never enough for anger. Sledge didn’t even notice the gracious hand extended his way until the man spoke.

“And you must be Eugene.” An unfamiliar Northern accent filled the pair’s ears. Somehow, it failed to grate like they usually tended to. “It’s good to see you.”

Entranced, Sledge dumbly took the offered hand. The shaking was done solely on the stranger’s part, the redhead too occupied by that kind face and the smoothness of the palm against his own.

“T-Thank ye’…” He managed to murmur, the words thick as honey and twice as hard to get out.

The silence he left hanging on the end made the unknown person smile a little wider.

“ _Andrew Haldane_.” He answered, freeing his hand to return it to his hip, “It’s my pleasure. Sidney explained everything on the phone.” He addressed the blond his time, turning his eyes in another direction.

Eugene felt his stomach drop simultaneously, blinking heavily as he pushed defiantly at the sudden blurring of his vision. He managed to straighten up, no longer trapped in the trance-like state, as Sid spoke.

“Nothin’ bad.” He assured with a laugh, before correcting himself sheepishly, “Well… nothin’ bad about _you_ , ‘Gene.”

“Y’never could pass up an opportunity to bad-mouth me.” Sledge joked and for a moment, enjoyed their shared snorts of laughter. The old motions returned and just as quickly faded as their eyes met. A melancholy stare shared between the two.

It dawned on Eugene that this might be the last time him and Sid were ever together.

“…Take care a’ y’self.” Sid began, starting off their eulogy strong. “Y’ in good hands, I promise.”

“ _Yeah_ ,” The redhead breathed, “I know.”

A pause beat in his ears before he could extend his hand once more, this time in a gesture of farewell rather than greeting. Sid slapped it away with a frustrated huff.

Eugene blinked as two strong arms wrapped around him, pulling their chests flush in a warm embrace. Well, a one-sided _warm_ embrace. If Sid minded, he didn’t mention it.

Tears splashed the shoulder of the blond’s jacket as Sledge buried his face in the fabric, closing the circle as he, too, grabbed hold of his friend. Tightly they held each other, savouring the moment, before savouring it just a moment longer.

It took all of the redhead’s willpower to keep his mouth closed, to force back the pleas for Sid to _stay_. For them to go _home_. How he could have both at once, he didn’t care. Anything but their parting and he’d be satisfied.

Carefully, the pair pulled apart, leaving Eugene to wipe his eyes on the cuffs of his shirt.

“Ack Ack’s got my number.” Sid explained, both hands still squeezing his friend’s shoulders, “Call me any time, a’right? I’m still here f’ you.”

Once Sledge registered that Andrew equalled _‘Ack Ack’_ , he nodded in agreement. Their foreheads pressed together for a second, and Sid breathed a final calming sigh. The fingers withdrew from Eugene’s body and that source of heat stepped away, turning to thank their third party member with another handshake. Then, with the same crunching of dirt beneath his boots, the blond departed, making his way back to his car.

Eugene watched him go, his unbeating heart heavy in his chest. Another tide of tears bubbled up at the bottom of his eyes, threatening to spill over to join the rivers carved over his cheeks. They never made it, as another hand replaced Sid’s against his shoulder.

A glance downward revealed Andrew’s hand gripping him gently, joining him in waving goodbye to the reversing vehicle. The cool, calming sensation that spread down his spine kept the tears at bay, allowing Eugene to fill his chest with unneeded air. A sigh released along with the majority of his tension, flooding the driveway as he watched Sid disappear up the country road, tires kicking up dust as he went.

Sledge’s hand fell back to his side as the grip lifted from his shoulder.

“C’mon.” Ack Ack breathed, “Let’s get you inside.”

After a lingering look across the deserted fields, Eugene did as he was told, following the man inside. Through those pretty French doors that were pulled closed behind him, shutting out the world he knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, I lost my whole document for this fic in a laptop restart. Anyway, thank you for all the wonderful comments!! They really do keep me writing this AU, I really want to finish it!!
> 
> Next chapter means the best thing... Monster boys!!


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guess who's back, it's been years.

It felt surreal, of course.

Just as that night had; just as that horrible, blood soaked scene that followed had. There was a thin layer of denial still sheltering Eugene’s thoughts, stretching with his hands if he dared reach out to test it. For the best, perhaps. There were a lot of new ideas to shoulder, new guilt to bear.

Ack Ack seemed to know this. But then, he seemed to know a lot of things, though he claimed no such thing.

“Need anything to eat?” He asked as he passed the redhead’s side, indicating the open kitchen.

A wooden table, accompanied by eight mismatched chairs, drew Sledge’s attention, along with the ugly tablecloth and out of place fridge. Yet his stomach was left unimpressed, unstirred by any offer of a meal.

He had eaten quite his fill, after all.

“’m fine.” He answered, trying to stop his gaze wandering, “Thank you.”

“Alright.” Came the soft response, accompanied by an understanding nod, “I’ll show you to your room, then.”

As he watched Andrew ascend the creaking staircase, following in his tread, Eugene wondered if anything could faze this man. It was as if he possessed no anger, no ill-will in even the tiniest corner of his body. Unnatural as it was, Sledge couldn’t resist the soothing tranquillity that settled upon him. Seeping in with every word, every gentle touch, that the blond gave; there was no way to fend off the comforting infection.

“Here we are.”

He was guided to a whitewashed door, one that swung open beneath Ack Ack’s hand. Inside; a small, cosy bedroom greeted the pair. A iron bed, older than Eugene would like to estimate, with worn pale sheets and a single window to let the final, dying rays of red light through the lace. Besides that, it was sparse, with little more than a wooden chest of draws and closet.

The only sign of living was the battered acoustic guitar lent against one of the furnishings.

A guest room, through and through.

“Nobody will disturb you in here.” Ack Ack assured, leaning against the doorframe as he watched Eugene cautiously pace the floor, “If you need me, my bedrooms just up the hall.”

Sledge looked back in time to see his guide indicate back the way they came. Past several other white washed doors, all held tightly shut by someone else’s bidding.

Eugene hadn’t dared asked what lurked behind them, but the possibilities haunted him.

“Bathroom’s on your right.”

Whatever fear had begun resurfacing, the redhead felt is squashed instantly as he faced Andrew’s warm smile. Soft eyes examined him with concern, as if checking to make sure he would be safe if left alone. An old man scrutinising his grandchildren for dirt before church.

Satisfied, Ack Ack let out the faintest of sighs. He straightened up from the door frame, taking the handle back into his grasp.

“I’ll answer everything in the morning. Get some rest, Eugene.” He breathed, “You’re safe here.”

Somehow, Eugene had to agree. With a nod, and a quiet _‘Goodnight’_ , the door eased shut. A squeak and soft clunk marked Ack Ack’s departure, leaving one of them alone in the white bedroom space.

Another longing look outside revealed the darkness finally filling the sky. Easing off his shirt, Sledge carefully folded the fabric, letting his jeans slide away similarly. The neat pile was left on the dresser; his dirty socks discarded on the floor.

The sheets were cool against his skin as he slid into bed, the mattress supporting his back comfortably and he sank his skull into the pillow. His eyes fell shut after a moment of silence and a resigned sigh.

It felt unwise to deviate from Andrew’s suggestions.

 

 

 

Ear pressed to the pillowcase, Eugene’s eyes flashed open.

The darkness that failed to obscure his vision told him it was early. Very early, long before dawn would be ready to break. Wind tickled the window pane, muffled by the glass. Yet a sound had woken him, revealing his eyes to the empty stillness of his new bedroom.

Sleep had always been easy for Eugene whilst he was alive. He’d been able to drop off anywhere he chose; reading a book in the living room, stretched out in the sun with his head in Sid’s lap, lying comfortably atop his bed with his hand still lazily combing Deacon’s hair.

His ability to fall asleep while undead was significantly harder.

The world never seemed _quiet_ enough.

Heightened senses meant heightened awareness; every floorboard, every breath, every rattle of every door handle. Eugene could listen to it all, even with the hallways, stairwell, and upper floor dividing them. But listen he did, awoken by the telltale tones of voices below.

Straining his ears, not his eyes, in the unimpressive dark, Eugene could tune into the conversation being played out at his leisure. Eavesdropping would never be something he’d consider, but so late at night it was difficult to resist. After all, it was him who’d been disturbed.

“You could have introduced yourself.”

Through the layers of plaster and wood, Eugene could identify Ack Ack speaking.

“Eavesdropping isn’t polite, Jay.”

If it weren’t for the unfamiliar name tacked on, Sledge would have sat bolt upright. Instead, only a sharp intake of air filled his chest – released a moment later in relief at remaining undetected.

A second voice comforted him with its response.

“Sorry, Ack Ack…”

Despite the new presence, Eugene could feel no footsteps hit the floorboards. No quiet taps, no tiny vibrations tickling his sensitive ears. Just a sudden breath of cold air against his skin.

“He seemed a little overwhelmed.” The voice that wasn’t Andrew’s continued, “I didn’t wanna scare him.”

A huff of amusement left Ack Ack’s lips.

“The worst scares are behind him. If he’s pulled through those, he’ll pull through the rest.”

“That’s an awful lot of faith to have, Ack Ack…”

The sound of a mug being sipped and then placed back against a wooden surface broke the conversation open. It allowed a minute for Sledge to digest the stranger’s tone, chew over the unfamiliar accent. Californian, if he had to guess. Even further from home than he was.

“Has my faith ever been misplaced, Jay?” Ack Ack continued, light-heartedly.

Somehow, it couldn’t sound arrogant coming from him.

“Not yet.”

Jay, Eugene identified, kept a chipper tone despite being scolded. The source of his voice moved once more, taking up a position closer to his company’s. And yet, again, no footsteps passed the ceiling that divided them.

“He’s cute though.” The stranger chirped suddenly.

Pressed against the pillow, Sledge’s cheek twitched reflexively, alarmed by the compliment. The realisation that his earlier interactions had been watched was softened only by the flush across his skin. His humble embarrassment was all that kept his panic at bay as he bit his lip and strained his ears. He wanted to hear more.

“Vampire’s are normally so rough, too.” Jay laughed, a sound mirrored for a moment by Ack Ack, “He seemed so sweet!”

Bed sheets rustled as Eugene rolled over in embarrassment, burying his ears beneath the pillow to muffle any further sound. He’d heard enough to rekindle the shame of spying on his host. Or rather _hosts_ , he realised.

Not that it came as a surprise; he couldn’t be the only monster that sought help in this world. He presumed that was what lurked behind the other sealed doors of the upper floor; fellow patients.

The word didn’t suit. But ‘prisoners’ was too harsh and ‘guests’ too insincere.

Eugene bitterly agreed to drop the thought in favour of sleep. He’d have plenty of time to come up with something else, anyway.

 

 

 

Sunlight broke through the lace curtains, leaving ornate flowers across the sheets. Long shadows grew lazily over the old guitar. Golden fields stretched out beyond the window pane, whitewashed wooden house standing proudly above it all; a scene to turn any romance novel green with envy.

This was where Eugene awoke, eyelids drawing back to reveal the deep red of his eyes. (He had stopped pretending not to notice their change from brown.)

Any stiffness left behind from the long ride in Sid’s car had vanished, peeled away by the creases of the mattress and gentle caresses of the duvet. In fact, as Sledge stretched, he realised how refreshed he felt. Revitalised, every muscle in his undead body giddy with excitement to get moving.

He hadn’t felt this good since he’d sunk his fangs into Deacon’s throat. The thought passed graciously over his head as a soft, content hum escaped him. His skull fell back against the pillow, sinking into its cradling embrace. The foreign furniture and lack of high ceiling seemed trivial; this may as well have been his childhood bedroom for how comfortable he felt.

Something that pulled a fleeting frown across his brow; Eugene was intelligent enough to push through the bliss of a beautiful morning.

Where was his trepidation, his fear of the unknown? One night was not enough to overcome the storm of emotions thrust upon him, from leaving his home to being in the company of complete strangers.

He should, by all accounts, feel terrible. And yet, here he lay like some house cat, sprawled out leisurely across an unfamiliar bed.

Perhaps he was going mad - on top of turning into a monster.

 

 

 

Each wooden step that created the spiralling stairwell creaked beneath his weight. It was impossible to creep silently in the old house; every inch of the floor seemed rigged against him. As if it had been specifically designed as such, to deter naughty children from wandering around past bedtime.

It was the smell of pancakes that had drawn Eugene to rise. After slipping on last night’s clothes, of course, he was still a polite young man. Some traits he would defend until the end.

As he crept quietly through the ground floor’s hallway, he picked up the distinct sounds of cutlery clinking against one another. The answer met his eyes as he rounded the kitchen’s open doorway.

Ack Ack had placed two plates on the table, now busying himself with unloading a generous helping of pancakes onto each awaiting surface. He was unfazed by the redhead’s appearance – lingering uncertainly in the entrance – as he casually placed the pan back on the hob.

When he turned back, leaning his hands on the back of his chair, he graced Sledge with a warm smile.

“Good morning, Eugene.”

“Good mornin’.”

With the exchange over, Ack Ack was free to take up his seat at the head of the table. As he began the familiar rituals of his breakfast, sprinkling a layer of sugar across his food, he spoke downwards to his plate.

“Would you care to join me?” He asked, only meeting Eugene’s eyes once he had finished his work.

It was an infectious act of calm; showing no signs of awkwardness even with a stranger watching him. Truly, this man was beyond Sledge’s understanding – his feet drawn closer by the mere offer extended his way. The wooden chair was quickly tucked in beneath him as he took up his knife and fork cautiously.

He waited for Andrew to take a bite of his own food.

The blond chewed thoughtfully, humming a soft note of contentment before he swallowed. He indicated with own fork as he spoke.

“I am unashamed to say I am far from the best cook in this house,” Elbow against the table, Ack Ack lent an inch closer, as if sharing a secret, “But I think I did pretty well on these ones.”

And with that, Eugene could no longer keep the grin from pulling his cheeks upwards. A tentative huff escaped his nose, preventing any real laugh from escaping, as he too began to work on his food. The fluffy pancake popped sweetly into his mouth, perfectly cooked without a single hint of burnt skin or soggy insides.

Perfect, without a single fault. Suspiciously so.

“Don’t you want any of those, Eugene?” Andrew asked politely, motioning his plate, “Sugar? Maple syrup?”

He must have noticed how the redhead’s eyes lit up at the last word, because Ack Ack was smiling before Eugene could reply.

“I-If it’s not too much trouble…” He trailed off in embarrassment, cursing himself for falling into the trap laid out for him. As comfortable as he was being made to feel, he was still an unwanted guest in a stranger’s home. Better yet, he was here to ask for help with the impossible.

He should tread more carefully.

“Jay,” Andrew began, drawing Sledge to straighten up in his chair, “Would you pass the syrup, please?”

“Sure.” A voice responded

Eugene’s eyes followed the sound with a sharp jerk of his neck; upwards.

Wooden chair legs rattled and scraped painfully against the tiles as the redhead jumped backwards, nearly knocking himself free of his seat. His cutlery had fallen with a clatter back to the table, abandoned where he had pushed himself away from the restricting surface. As if to run, maybe. How ridiculous.

How did you run from a man who could literally _fly_?

Well, _levitate_ he supposed. Just like a magician might with magnets, or an actor in a movie. Eugene had to force those frustrating ideas from his head, comfortable as they might have been. There was no scientific explanation for the face that stared down at him.

A sheepish looking boy – Jay, presumably – grinned at the pair from the air he floated in. A slightly translucent hand came up to wave awkwardly, a motion that had Eugene transfixed. He couldn’t help but stare, mouth agape and all thought of politeness thrown to the wind.

From where he hovered so effortlessly above them, their ghostly company began to slowly descend to floor level. His hands came together instinctively, rubbing his palms as if made uncomfortable by the attention he had been cursed with. Pale eyes moved across to the counter, beckoning to the maple syrup that resided there.

As if it was still wanted at this point.

Eugene found his eyes torn between studying Jay’s ashen, rippling figure and the syrup bottle wafting casually over to the table. Its journey had it spinning lazily through the silent air, landing on the ugly surface just in time to roll itself up to the redhead’s plate.

There, it stopped, knocking softly against the porcelain.

 _Clink_.

In his dumb state, Sledge could only turn himself on Ack Ack for explanation.

The man’s gaze hadn’t left him, recording his reaction in real time. It had left a lasting smile on Andrew’s face, his attention only now shifting to slice another lump of fluffy pancake from his plate. Placed leisurely in his mouth, he chewed without concern, seemingly unaware of the two boys at his table. One scratching his neck guiltily, the other clutching the wood of the table so hard it was threatening to snap in two.

“It’s polite to introduce yourself.” Was all Ack Ack said.

In his complete serenity, he could have meant either of them.

The boys locked eyes, momentarily fearing the consequences of being dubbed impolite. It was Jay who took the initiative, however, letting out a nervous chuckle. He extended his hand across the table.

“Hi, Eugene.” He chirped, “I’m Jay De L’Eau.”

Tendrils of mist seemed to rise and fade away from the extended fingers, pale and almost colourless as they were. Yet, as Eugene tentatively reached out to take the offered hand, he found that it was more than just cold, lifeless air he felt.

Surprisingly, Jay’s palm was solid, able to return his hesitant grip and shake as normally as ever. Chilly and definitely more fluid feeling, but solid all the same. Eugene could only watch in awe as those misty tendrils rose around his fingers, rising like smoke to disappear.

“ _Jay_.” He repeated, finally looking up to meet the boy’s face, “De L’Eau.”

Jay’s grin widened. He nodded.

“Capital D, little E, space, capital L, apostrophe, capital E, little A, little U!”

Strange as it was to have a ghost spell out their surname for him, one disbelieving look around the room settled the matter in Eugene’s stomach. The tension was lost as he watched Jay take up the seat opposite him, phasing through its back of course, rather than making the effort to pull it out.

The mundane words of their introduction grappled with the unnatural circumstances, emerging victorious as Sledge let out a warm chuckle.

“De L’Eau.” He repeated, scooting his chair back towards the table. “I’ll… I’ll try an’ remember it.”

An approving gaze settled on him from the guardian of their breakfast, Ack Ack’s satisfied smile now relieved to focus on his pancakes. With his cutlery now picked up, Eugene was free to settle back in his seat, reclining as the calm waves rolled back over him. Smothering him, returning him to how this house wanted to keep its guests.

Relaxed. Content.

He was able to enjoy his breakfast once more, made all the more entertaining as Jay offered to pour his syrup. Hands free, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm enjoying this fic, but also rushing it along because fuck it we all got places to be and nobody wants to read the boring bits lmao.

**Author's Note:**

> A short prologue to the set the scene, because I honestly don't want to spend more than this plus one chapter with Eugene alone and angst-ridden in Mobile. I want my monster boys to appear and get gay.


End file.
